'Let us leave this chamber,' said Emily: 'and let me caution you again,
Annette; be guarded in your conversation, and never tell, that you know
any thing of that picture.' 'Holy Mother!' exclaimed Annette, 'it is no secret; why all the servants
have seen it already!' Emily started.
'How is this?' said she--'Have seen it! When?--how?' 'Dear, ma'amselle, there is nothing surprising in that; we had all a
little more CURIOUSNESS than you had.' 'I thought you told me, the door was kept locked?' said Emily. 'If that was the case, ma'amselle,' replied Annette, looking about her,
'how could we get here?'
'Oh, you mean THIS picture,' said Emily, with returning calmness. 'Well,
Annette, here is nothing more to engage my attention; we will go
.' Emily, as she passed to her own apartment, saw Montoni go down to the
hall, and she turned into her aunt's dressing-room, whom she found
weeping and alone, grief and resentment struggling on her countenance.
Pride had hitherto restrained complaint. Judging of Emily's disposition
from her own, and from a consciousness of what her treatment of her
deserved, she had believed, that her griefs would be cause of triumph
to her niece, rather than of sympathy; that she would despise, not pity
her. But she knew not the tenderness and benevolence of Emily's heart,
that had always taught her to forget her own injuries in the misfortunes
of her enemy. The sufferings of others, whoever they might be, called
forth her ready compassion, which dissipated at once every obscuring
cloud to goodness, that passion or prejudice might have raised in her
mind. Madame Montoni's sufferings, at length, rose above her pride, and, when
Emily had before entered the room, she would have told them all, had not
her husband prevented her; now that she was no longer restrained by his
presence, she poured forth all her complaints to her niece.
'O Emily!' she exclaimed, 'I am the most wretched of women--I am
indeed cruelly treated! Who, with my prospects of happiness, could have
foreseen such a wretched fate as this?--who could have thought, when I
married such a man as the Signor, I should ever have to bewail my lot?
But there is no judging what is for the best--there is no knowing what
is for our good! The most flattering prospects often change--the best
judgments may be deceived--who could have foreseen, when I married the
Signor, that I should ever repent my GENEROSITY?'
Emily thought she might have foreseen it, but this was not a thought
of triumph. She placed herself in a chair near her aunt, took her
hand, and, with one of those looks of soft compassion, which might
characterize the countenance of a guardian angel, spoke to her in
the tenderest accents. But these did not sooth Madame Montoni, whom
impatience to talk made unwilling to listen. She wanted to complain, not
to be consoled; and it was by exclamations of complaint only, that Emily
learned the particular circumstances of her affliction.